|
  |
Pergola des Artistes is abuzz with activity. The Times Square French Restaurant with its old-world glamour combined with new world initiative, has a certain appeal for both tourists and locals alike. Wilson Fisk, however, has booked his usual table to have lunch with a new friend. He sits across from his dining partner and steeples his fingers as his hands rest on the table.
His black suit, a far cry from his usual grey or white, contrasts nicely with the blue shirt that Vanessa had chosen earlier than morning. Shiny cufflinks, with diamond studs, catch the light as he brings his glass to his nose and takes a long languid sniff of the wine following a familiar swish, swish, swish, swirl. He takes a quick sip of the fluid and nods once at the maitre'd. Yes, Fisk approves. Be pleased. "This will do," he says with a small smile. A glance is given to his dining partner, "I suggest enjoying a glass with lunch. The special, a delicate white fish, is well worth pairing with the cab blanc."
*
"I'll take your word for it," Sinjin says with a sheepish smile. His usual physical grace is blunted by his injuries, the scars do little for his charisma, and he's afraid that his lack of education in terms of culture and manners will show more than ever. "I appreciate the advice, to be honest. I'm out of my league lately — my accidental leap into the spotlight was, well…accidental."
He reaches for his water first, though, a gesture that shows the terrible scars on his hands. There's no hiding them, if Sinjin starts trying to hide his scars, he'll never get out the door in the morning. He's not about to live a life that will mean fewer, after all.
*
A small, not quite-convincing smile and nod follow the remark. "Believe me, I only learned from Vanessa," Fisk replies with a lift of his eyebrows. "I'm fortunate enough to have the love of a woman who understands how to negotiate a different world." He says evenly before sinking back into his seat. His eyes watch John's hands for a beat, but if he notices the scars, he makes no mention, instead focusing on lunch itself.
"I'm glad that you're vertical, Mister Allerdyce. I'm to understand that it's been a trying month for you." His smile stiffens some. "I hope that the people responsible for," his eyes hone in on John's face, "your condition are enduring some relatilative consequences for their actions."
*
"Some, yes. As you likely know, for all the bravado people like the spew about heads and snakes, the head is often impossible to reach," Sinjin says without any rancour. It it what it is. He has time. "Someone needed to take action, take the risk, of exposing that weapons program. The opportunity presented itself and I chose to do so. When there are difficult consequences for a choice, I find it's best to remember that I had a choice in the first place. Not everyone does."
The waiter arrives after the wine steward has departed and looks to Sinjin, questioningly.
"Mr. Fisk recommendss the special," Sinjin says easily. "I'm happy to be guided by him."
*
"Good choice," Wilson states easily. He lifts his hand, and it's obvious that he will be eating nothing but the special. As the waiter departs, Fisk actually chuckles — a low, rumbling bellow — and shakes his head. "I haven't ever ordered anything else. Once a person finds perfection, why would they make a change."
His eyes spark with amusement, and only then does he consider the Weapon X program with any true clarity, "Choice is a difficult thing." His head angles to the side slightly, "I think sometimes when we look at our choices, we see they weren't choices at all. How could we not have made the decisions we did? How could we not live for what we do? Choice then, becomes an obligation. A non-decision. Just the grim reality of a truth we can't quite process."
*
"I find my path narrowing, that's for certain. I could step off it, yes, but then I wouldn't be who I am anymore." Sinjin leans back in his seat, looking pensive. "We often have little choice about who we are. At one point I would have said differently but I tried to be someone else and failed. I lasted all of six months as a wastrel and a scoundrel." He snorts softly. "Apparently, I find myself needing to at least understand chaos. Preferably, I would like to prevent it."
*
While John stalks about his decisions, Wilson swishes his glass of wine several times before taking a long sip of the fluid. His lips twist to the side. "I suspect, Mister Allerdyce, we are very much alike." His lips twitch upwards, "I, much like you, try to stave off the chaos through whatever means I can." He takes another sip of his wine and he nods lightly, "Some years ago, I came to realize that money could stave off some of that chaos, and I became fortunate in bolstering my success through business deals. I realized my fortune could be others' as well if I willed it to."
*
"I've noticed you're proactive." Sinjin is not about to flatter Fisk, which may make him a rare creature. He is going to be forthright about Fisk's impact, though. "I didn't have the opportunity to make money but what I did collect was knowledge. I'm sure it wouldn't surprise you to know that things like the drug trade are among the least chaotic endeavors going. I learned a great deal about how people work when I was among some of those who are considered the worst people in the world. I got to witness fine examples of leadership, opportunity, and charity when I was with them. I admit to feeling a little hopeful when I see those things coming from a man of good standing. Your example that you set, the way you make it possible for people to be better than they are, those are admirable things — and effective."
*
Silence falls over Fisk at the observation. He inhales a slow breath and nods, "Well. We all should do what we can to create some semblance of unity." His smile falters and his eyes turn towards the door, "I find it deeply unsettling that our city has so thoroughly degenerated in the last few weeks. Between the monstrosity in Central Park and the nonsense at City Hall," he inhales a deep breath and doesn't finish the thought.
*
"It feels a bit like the end times," Sinjin says, without humor. "It is, for too many people. I'm one of the few publically admitted mutants who has any kind of recognition and it has weight to it. I know what I can do, I also know the last thing I want is to use it against anyone. I suppose that's why I outed myself, so that my story wouldn't add to the nonsense about average people and mutants hurting each other. Leadership is necessary but so is understanding. People like me are vastly outnumbered. And we are just people. Anything that forces us, increasingly, to think of ourselves as separate is dangerous. The factions should be order against disorder and not, as others would have it, people like you against people like me."
*
A small nod follows John's words. "And, unfortunately, it's becoming ever clearer that the New York Police Department doesn't have the means to confront the problem." His eyebrows lift. "They have utterly failed at containing it." His eyes narrow, "And here, groups like the supposedly Fantastic Four are to stand as our harbingers of justice, yet I'm unsure as to how they can without greater oversight. The current solution of handing such matters to powered vigilantes in itself increases that divide." He sips his wine again. "The city needs a police force that can respond to the needs of its people. One that builds bridges rather than fences between people."
*
"Look, I'm one of the last people to be in favour of the government making use of people like me," Sinjin says, toying with his lighter. Somehow, it always finds a way into his hand. "After Weapon X? The idea is appalling. But people like me should get a chance to participate, properly, in everything that helps structure the society we have to live inside. And vigilante groups are a terrible idea — at least when it comes to keeping order. You can't impose order from outside the system. We need to be represented as citizens. Whether it's in politics or on the police force, we need to be present — not masquerading as average, but as ourselves."
*
"Indeed," Fisk offers. "They need a police force that uses both powered and non-powered people," he states dryly. "I proposed that to the Commissioner some time ago. Partnering powered and unpowered people together to fight crime in this city through sanctioned means rather than vigilante ones." He nods at this point. "Unlike the Weapons program you wrote about, it would be a police force of willing citizens who are trained to cope with the difficulties that plague New York today." He shrugs. "Unfortunately, I've been told the resources aren't available." He shakes his head. "Seems the foresight of investment would've been apt based on what we see outside."
*
"If foresight existed amongst politicians, both you and I would be living quiet little lives somewhere. Maybe gardening." Sinjin gives Fisk a flash of a grin.
"Perhaps the resources could become available. I know that your involvement in law enforcement would look questionable at best but I understand that the Central Park Recovery Project is going to strain City Hall down to the last paperclip. Perhaps if you bolstered some other areas in return for support of the new law enforcement initiative?" He flips his lighter between his fingers, gazing off into the distance. "I'm sure at least one editorial regarding the need for people like myself to participate as full citizens of this community — as we did in Central Park — would get some discussion underway."
*
Fisk's eyebrows lift at the thought and he manages another smile. "That… is a useful idea, John." He nods slightly and leads forward in his seat. "This needs to happen. I'm not sure how much Council understands its needed, but it needs to happen. The future of the city depends on it, and anyone can see it."
*
"So long as someone shines a light on it, people will see it for the necessity it is," Sinjin says with a bit of a laugh. "But. If anything is still working in this town, it's the press. Light is kind of a specialty of mine."
*